Sir Sigefrith tries and fails

Sir Sigefrith saw that the bed was unmade, so Wynflaed had been in it at some point, but he found her dozing on the couch before the fire. 

It should have been a lovely scene, but he knew that if she was sitting up so late at night, it could only mean one thing: her pain was troubling her again. It seemed to him that it had been worse both times that her belly had begun to grow large with her babies, and that only made it harder for him, who wanted a big family.

He sat beside her as carefully as he knew how, but she was awake at once.

“Sigefrith!”

“It had better be! What are you doing up, naughty girl? Were you waiting for me? Or is that runt keeping you awake?”

“Perhaps both,” she laughed, though they knew it was a lie.

“Waiting for the father so you can curse him for giving you this unruly son?”

“Sigefrith! As if it wasn’t the handsomest gift anyone has ever given me!”

“You haven’t seen him yet, and you already know he’s handsome!”

“He’s your son, isn’t he? Handsome?”

“Or your daughter! Wynsome! So, can we go to bed now? I’m tired.”

“You’re drunk,” she corrected.

“P’raps a little,” he mumbled into her neck.

“I hope you will at least take off your boots first.”

“I shall get entirely undressed!” he announced and bent at once to begin working on his boots. “Never you worry! Or, on second thought, perhaps you should!”

“Who was there?” she asked after a moment spent watching him fumble with his laces.

“Only Sigefrith and I. Baldwin had already left by the time I got there.”

“You paint a sad picture: only the two Sigefriths sitting around and getting drunk together.”

“It was quite merry, I assure you,” Sigefrith said as he rose to remove his tunic, and he laughed softly to himself over some of the more hilarious moments of the evening.

“Alred wasn’t there?”

“I’m certain he was with his new best friend, namely Cenwulf,” Sigefrith snorted.

“He only goes to see Cenwulf because Hetty is there.”

“I wish he would hurry up and marry her so he can come back to play with the men.”

“I think he will be playing with his new wife for some time thereafter,” she smiled.

“If she consents to be played with. She’s the shyest little thing I ever saw. I don’t know how she will ever survive Alred. He has always been rather… what’s the word?”

“Playful?”

“Passionate!”

“Oh,” she giggled.

“Perhaps he will manage to train her. She always seems afraid of whatever he’s about to do, even if it’s only to kiss her on the cheek. But she always seems to like it in the end. So!” He shrugged.

“I think her first husband may have been a little… rough with her…”

“Do you think?” he asked earnestly.

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

“I hope you never learn.”

“I’m certain you could never be rough with me,” she said. “Or with any woman.”

Sigefrith turned away in consternation. He had told her little mother, but he had never told Wynflaed about the time he had taken Hilda by the arms and slammed her against the wall. He could not bear to have her know. He didn’t mind if she thought him stupid, for he knew he was, but he could not bear to have her think him violent, though he knew he was.

“And I’m certain Alred couldn’t be either,” she added.

“Unless she likes it!” he laughed, thinking of Matilda.

It certainly was funny how women could be so different, he thought, and at times it seemed a shame that one was supposed to content oneself with one of them.

And then he turned and looked back at his exquisite little wife, who blushed but could yet smile a little at what he had said.

A woman who was merely “different” could hold no attraction for him as long as he had her. Moreover, while she was no Matilda, she had never refused him anything. There was still plenty of “different” to explore between the two of them. And he was not, in fact, particularly tired.

He hopped onto the couch beside her, still half-​​dressed, and scooped her up into his arms.

“What about you, Wyn?”

“What about me?” she smiled.

“How do you like it?”

“Like what?” she asked, still smiling in confusion.

In spite of the wine, he was not quite bold enough to say. However, he thought he could show her, and he tipped her over suddenly onto her back and kissed her quickly enough to catch her cry of surprise in his mouth.

Of course he could not be rough with her – not now, anyway, with the baby grown as large as it was. Nor would he, anyway – not unless she liked it. But tonight he could be, as he had said of Alred, passionate.

She kissed him willingly at first, but when he freed one of his arms to reach down and try to pull up the hem of her nightgown, he felt her try to squirm out from under him.

“Sigefrith!” she gasped when she realized that she could not.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, no, but – ” He went back to work on her nightgown at once, and at once she protested. “Sigefrith!”

“What is it, Wyn?” he asked, dimly wondering whether this was not, in fact, what passed for “rough” in her mind.

“Well… I don’t know. But do you think we should?”

“Do I think we should? Oh, yes!”

“But, Sigefrith…”

“Why shouldn’t we?”

“Well… it’s Easter tomorrow. It’s Holy Saturday tonight.”

“And? It seems like a good time to me. I’m about to rise again!” he cried and laughed at his own joke.

“Sigefrith!” Wynflaed gasped in horror.

Even Sigefrith was a little troubled by his blasphemy, so he immediately attempted to distract the Lord by kissing his wife again.

“But, Sigefrith!” she pleaded. She did not sound angry, only frightened. She was not frightened of him, perhaps, but it seemed she was afraid to do what she had never yet done, and yet she felt had to do it: refuse him.

He sat up and pulled her up with him. “But, Wyn,” he said mournfully.

“It’s – it’s still Lent,” she stammered.

“Lent! Good Lord! It’s been Lent for weeks and you haven’t said anything.”

“I know, but… Holy Saturday…”

“Oh, Wyn!” he groaned, petulant because ashamed of himself. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with my sister! I would wager anything Sigefrith is getting the same treatment right now!”

“Sigefrith!” she whimpered. “It’s not ‘treatment.’”

“No. I know. I’m sorry, Wynsome,” he sighed. “But – Good Lord! You picked a bad moment to get religious on me.”

“I didn’t…”

“No, you’re simply a good girl, aren’t you?” he said tenderly and kissed her cheek. “You’ll console me tomorrow, won’t you? Lent will be over.”

“Of course.”

“That’s fine. Now I wish I knew what to do about my sister.”

“What’s the matter with your sister?”

“She’s religious like that, but all the time lately. Not only in Lent.”

“I think it very becoming of a Queen.”

“You wouldn’t say so if you had ever met our old Queen. I don’t think Eadie’s going the same way, but she has Sigefrith worried. He liked her better when she was just Eadie. Now, because she thinks her baby is a miracle, she seems to think that if she commits any little sin between now and then, she will lose it.”

“Oh, Sigefrith, try to understand. She wanted a baby for so long.”

“She didn’t get it by kissing any fingers.”

“Are you certain?”

“I don’t know,” he said, mumbling because he was not certain.

But he was certain his sister’s husband was suffering. The King did not often get that drunk – especially not when he knew that he would have to make an appearance at the chapel the following morning at dawn.

Sigefrith truly did wish Alred were not so preoccupied with his upcoming wedding and with the company of his betrothed. Alred understood women, and not only when it came to romancing them. More importantly – and this was what had been lacking in all of the women whose help Sigefrith had already awkwardly tried to enlist – Alred also understood the King and what he had once endured.